The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But, being spent, the worse and worst
Time shall succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time
And, while ye may, go marry ;
For, having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
Some asked me where the rubies grew,
And nothing did I say,
But with my finger pointed to
The lips of Julia.
Some asked how pearls did grow, and where ; Then spake I to my girl,
To part her lips and shew me there
The quarelets of pearl.
One asked me where the roses grew ;
I bade him not go seek,
But forthwith bade my Julia shew
A bud in either cheek.
THE BAG OF THE BEE.
About the sweet bag of a bee
Two Cupids fell at odds;
And whose the pretty prize should be
They vowed to ask the Gods.
Which Venus hearing thither came,
And for their boldness stript them
And, taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipt them.
Which done, to still their wanton cries
When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kissed and wiped their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.
"Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe,” I cry,
"Full and fair ones-come and buy;"
If so be you ask me where
They do grow? I answer, "There,
Where my Julia's lips do smile;"
There's the land, or cherry-isle,
Whose plantations fully shew
All the year where cherries grow!
UPON A CHILD THAT DIED.
Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood,
Who as soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her!
I dare not ask a kiss ;
I dare not beg a smile;
Lest, having that or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no! the utmost share
Of my desire shall be
Only to kiss that air
That lately kissed thee.
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Which, star-like, sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free.
Be you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the love-sick air ;
Whenas that ruby which you wear,
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,
Will last to be a precious stone
When all your world of beauty's gone.
Go, happy rose; and, interwove
With other flowers, bind my love!
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft has fettered me.
Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold to bind her hands:
Tell her, if she struggle still,
I have myrtle rods at will
For to tame, though not to kill.
Take thou my blessing, thus, and go
And tell her this; but do not so,
Lest a handsome anger fly
Like a lightening from her eye,
And burn thee up, as well as I.
HIS LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT.
In the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the house doth sigh and weep
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the artless doctor sees
No one hope but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When his potion and his pill
Has or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing but to kill,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the passing bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !
When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When, God knows, I'm tossed about
Either with despair or doubt,
Yet, before the glass is out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !
When the Tempter me pursu❜th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the judgment is revealed,
And that opened which was sealed,
When to Thee I have appealed,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me !
Printed by R. & R. CLARK. Edinburgh.
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